Parties & Pianos
by kalinmarie
Summary: Colonel Brandon and Marianne have a discussion during a party at Delaford.


**Authors Note: Quick warnings: This was very lightly proof read, and I'm nearly 100% certain that there are some mistakes here. I've been sick for four days and I haven't felt up to much, and after writing, I'm pretty much done. So, apologies for any mistakes! Don't forget to review. Hope y'all enjoy. :)**

Willoughby had once told her that Colonel Brandon was just the type of man whom everyone was delighted to see, but did not remember to talk to. The type of man that society admired, and for good reason, but tended to ignore and neglect because of his independence. He was a strong man, both physically and mentally, and everyone thought that he would be just fine if left alone. Marianne had agreed with Willoughby, of course, adding in her own view on it. " _Perhaps, everyone ignores him because he is boring, and old!"_ She had said, her tongue full of...what was it? It was not distaste, for she did not dislike Colonel Brandon. She realized now that she was simply following Willoughby, willing to believe, do, and say anything that would put a smile on his face or have him nodding his head in agreement. She had gotten very caught up in that man and his feelings toward her that she was no longer certain about what _she_ felt, only certain that she wanted to feel what Willoughby felt. She needed to be his equal, his match, and when looking back on her cruel words, she felt regret. But still, Willoughby _had_ been right. Society did indeed ignore Colonel Brandon in a way; it seemed as though everyone loved him when they need him, when they needed good advice, and such, but when they did not need him, he was tossed aside, and they were content with letting him be a wallflower. Sir John, his closest friend, was always there for him, of course, he was one of his true constants. Marianne remembered seeing the Colonel at many of the parties, him finding a quiet place in the darkest, quietest area of the house ( _for no one else would go there)_ and he would stand there until he could take his leave politely, or until Sir John came to speak with him. So now that Marianne Dashwood's feelings were in order, and she was now well enough to escape her bed without feeling faint, or ill, she was eager to go to the next party which was very conveniently thrown at Delaford. She wanted to be...to be a true friend to him, and make sure that tonight, he was not alone. For even at his own parties, he was ignored. And maybe, he preferred this, she knew he was not a fan of large crowds, but either way...she would go to him.

Marianne spent the entire carriage ride there in deep thought, her thoughts drowning out the conversation between her sisters and mother. Ever since her illness, and what had happened with Willoughby, she had felt her heart change drastically. It had once been so broken by...by that man, that she could have sworn it would never heal again. But soon, it had been patched and nearly completely healed by a very unlikely man; Colonel Brandon himself. He had spent so much time with her, even when she was confined to her bed. He had read to her, had even helped her brush up on French so that they could read a certain book together with ease. When she was well enough to be outside once more, he had gone with her, sitting on an uncomfortable stool for hours at a time, reading to her, talking with her, simply to make her happy. He had brought her new books, new music, had even purchased the finest pianoforte she had ever seen and had it delivered to her cottage as a surprise! She was well aware of his feelings towards her, now. Elinor and her mother ( _and even Margaret!_ ) had told her that he cared for her greatly, perhaps even _loved her,_ for months, but she had scoffed at them. Why would he love her? Especially after how she had treated him! And how she had acted...so immature and..and wild. What would a responsible, and respectful man love a woman like her who had nothing to offer him in return? But regardless of the reason why he loved her, she could see that he did indeed care for her. That he was even attracted to her. She had noticed his glances in her direction, his small smile when she walked in the room, his gaze when she played the piano. What was in that gaze? Could it be love?

Finally, they arrived at the estate, the abrupt stop of the carriage shaking her out of her head. The carriage door had opened, and soon, she and her family had stepped down and had walked in the grand house. Sir John was the first to greet him, already quite merry and in very good spirits from the party. "Mrs. Dashwood, Miss Dashwood, Miss Marianne, Miss Margaret." He greeted them, a smile on his face and a glass of wine in his hand. He nodded towards the large room to their right, where most of everyone was. Marianne noticed Mrs. Jennings and the Palmers, all laughing together over a card game of some sort. Sir John began to speak, but Marianne could not hear him. Colonel Brandon had walked through into the room, now coming into her sight from the doorway. He had a glass in his hand as well, and he had walked to the table, smiling at Mrs. Jennings. She engaged him in a conversation, she could tell, but all she could hear was her laughter, and he turned after putting a hand on her shoulder, and when he turned, she saw a smile on his face, and he caught her eye, smile fading into something smaller, something...odd. She returned it, then turned back to Sir John, heart in her throat. _How on earth is he making me feel like this? It's Colonel Brandon!_ "Marianne, did you hear Sir John?" Her mother asked. She blushed, shaking her head. "I did not, I'm sorry-" "Ah, it's nothing! I was going to say, the pianoforte is open and very ready to be used by someone...I've asked Chris to play but alas, he's a stubborn lot and refuses! He hates a crowd, you know. Such a shame, he can play better than anyone I've ever met!"

"Chris?" She asked.

"Colonel Brandon, that is. I forget about propriety. To me, he's Christopher. You spend time in the Army with a man and you forget about propriety after time." She was surprised, partly because she had never heard his first name being used, and partly because...well, she supposed this almost humanized him even more. She had always viewed him as the Colonel. The strict, respectable Colonel. But who was Christopher Brandon? She had caught glimpses of him, she realized, when he read to her and talked about his favorite books, when he told her all about his favorite composers. He had been giving her small hints on who he was underneath the Army man exterior. She found that she longed to know more.

"I see." She replied, turning her head back to the room, Colonel Brandon nowhere in sight. "I shall play for you tonight, then. Perhaps later? I'd love to get caught up with everyone after being on bed rest for so terribly long." Sir John nodded, leading them into the room. "Of course!"

Her family found themselves in a conversation with Mrs. Jennings rather quickly, she had started telling them a story about something, but Marianne was preoccupied. Where was the Colonel? Finally, after her eyes had roamed around everywhere, she caught a glimpse of him. He had found a place away from the laughing and conversation- more people had arrived, but they did not greet him, instead, they found friends. "Excuse me." She said to Mrs. Jennings, interrupting her tale, she heard Margaret ask where she was going, and when she tossed a glance backwards, she saw Elinor smiling at her. They had discussed this, just after they received the invitation to come to Delaford, and Elinor clearly knew what she was up to. Her stomach was fluttering with butterflies, wondering what she should say to him. He had quickly become a very close friend, a confidant for her, but this...this was different than him coming to her. She was coming to him.

"Colonel Brandon," She started, talking quietly as to not bring attention to them. He glanced up once, then twice, seeming to take a double take in surprise. "I thought I saw you hiding." She teased, the corners of her eyes wrinkling with her smile. He hummed, raising a brow. "Only escaping for a moment. Not hiding." His tone was joking, and she was happy that she had not offended him. "And what is the difference between those two, Colonel?"

"I'll go back and talk later. If I was hiding, I would simply disappear and not come back until everyone was at the door, leaving."

"Do you want them to leave?" He had never been shy with her, not afraid to be honest, so why should she? He looked at her with surprise, and something that looked like amusement, before answering. "You know me well. I'm not a fan of large parties."

"Then why have them?"

"It is my social duty. If I did not have them, people would begin to think I am nothing but a recluse. I do enjoy people, I just do not enjoy the strict propriety that seems to come with large gatherings."

"Propriety?" She edged closer to him, so that she was now facing him. He had leaned himself against the wall, his back against it, and she propped herself up by her shoulder on the wall. "You know how people are, I'm sure. No one will be honest, or themselves, when in public. It's all a show. There are no real conversations, only people being polite out of propriety. No one says what they want, or what they feel."

Suddenly, she found that she related much more to him than she had thought. How many times had she gotten frustrated with society and it's lack of honesty? People changed greatly in large groups. No one said what they thought, only what is proper to say. She hadn't imagined that he was capable of feeling annoyance, but that is what she saw.

"I understand." Before she could continue, he smiled down at her. "That is precisely why I enjoy our conversations. You aren't...you aren't afraid to ask me why I am being an old recluse." She grinned at him. "Well, you are quite a recluse. Although not quite old, yet."

"I believe you were the one who originally made that statement, Miss Marianne." She searched his eyes for any sort of anger, but found none. Her heart had sped when he said that, anxious to see if he was upset with her. "I am sorry for that, Colonel. I...I was not in my right mind. I see that now. I behaved terribly-"

"It is nothing. I believe we've been through this before, Miss Marianne. No more apologies between the two of us, for there is nothing for me to forgive." They stood in silence for a beat or two, and she found that she enjoyed his presence, even when they were quiet and still, more than the presence of the rest of the party. There was something nice about being around him. "Sir John told me that you are quite the piano player." She broke the easy silence. Of course, she knew that he enjoyed piano, and music, and knew several composers. He clearly knew music, but she was not aware that he played. He looked down at her with some interesting expression that she could not read.

"I play some. Not often."

"Why is that?" Marianne wondered. She assumed that he simply could not play well, because his abilities were not up to par with his knowledge, she admitted to herself.

"As we've discussed, I'm not overly fond of crowds. I play more when I'm alone. Beth-" He looked at her, silently wondering if she remembered her name, and she nodded. "Beth always enjoyed hearing me play. As does her child, it seems. So I've been playing more often for them."

"Perhaps..." She paused, wondering if her request would be proper. But he had just said that he did not like propriety, had he not? "Perhaps you could play for me, then. One day, when we aren't surrounded by a crowd. I'd like to hear you." Colonel Brandon felt his face turn red, and he lowered his head to hide it. He'd never felt so odd, but falling in love with a young woman seemed to be turning him into a young man again. He felt as if he was a teenage boy with his first crush.

"I-I don't play all that well, Miss Marianne."

"Sir John says otherwise."

"Sir John is biased, I do believe. And, no offense to him, he is also...not very familiar with good music and good composers. He is simply blinded by lack of knowledge." His tone was obviously in jest, softening his words. And then, he did the oddest thing; he met her gaze again, and tossed her a teasing wink, so quick that she was unsure if it had even happened. She wasn't sure where this was coming from, but once again, Christopher Brandon came to mind - she was certain now that he was allowing her to see a side of him that was reserved for close friends only, and she welcomed this change in him with opened arms. He seemed happy, much happier than he had been when she had first come to him, and she knew her mission was accomplished.

"Even still, I'd love to hear you play. I'd even suffer through your choice of composers." This time, it was her who was teasing him. They both had quite different taste in composers - she loved Mozart, he loved Bach, she loved Beethoven, he was not as keen. They had already bantered over this several times. "I'll make sure I play Bach, then." He laughed. "Next time you come to the cottage? Perhaps I could pull you into playing?" Colonel Brandon then smiled, fighting back the urge to say something stupid like, _I'd do anything for you. Even play Beethvoven for you. I'll do whatever you ask, just be with me._ He was not an insecure man, and tried his best to remember that fact, even though it was beginning to be much harder when all he wanted was _her._ He would be fine, he did not have to grovel at her feet or do as she wished, but Lord, he _wanted_ to.

"I think that could be arranged."

And so, the party continued; the grand house at Delaford full of smiling faces and laughter, and terrible piano playing by people who had enjoyed enough wine to be confident in their abilities as a player. She saw Elinor conversing with several ladies at a table, Margaret and her mother dancing along with most of the others, Sir John in between them. Through the whole happy affair, Colonel Brandon and Marianne Dashwood stayed in their corner of the room, silently discussing everything from Mozart, to Shakespeare, to dances and propriety. Colonel Brandon was not aware of this, but Marianne Dashwood felt her heart yearn for more of this, more conversations with him, more of this closeness, and Willoughby was the last thing in her mind, thoughts of the Colonel taking over every thought in her mind.

And she thought being with a self-proclaimed recluse didn't seem nearly as bad as she would have thought.


End file.
